


Out, Damned Spot

by Maple_Maypole



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, edit i changed the title bc i refuse to miss an opportunity for a shakespeare reference i mean cmon, just the way I like it!!, prosey and dancing jauntily on top of the line separating abstract and bonkers incomprehensible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:54:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22887385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maple_Maypole/pseuds/Maple_Maypole
Summary: Hamid examines his hands.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Out, Damned Spot

Hamid looks down at his hands.

They're nice hands, he thinks. He's seen them do wonderful things. They're rather slender for a halfling's, and as carefully manicured as they always are.

He notices a smudge of dirt, then, right between two knuckles. He frowns slightly and goes to wipe it away. He scrubs the skin with his thumb. It's still there when he tries again. And again. 

Hamid looks at his hands and the dirt won't go away. It's under his nails now, as he scratches at the walls. He can hear his heartbeat loud in his ears and the rocks press around him and he looks down in the darkness and he thinks...

They're nice hands, he thinks. He's seen them do wonderful things. Sometimes magic explodes from them in bright flashes or envelops his fingers in lazy circles. Every spark obeys his command: To attack, create, protect. He grips a pen and writes down a string of numbers and words that mean very little to anyone other than himself and his classmate. He feels very proud, and a little annoyed at the dark red liquid dripping onto the paper. It runs in rivers over the writing, seeps into the ink and obscures the numbers, turns the words into a muddled incoherence. He tries to wipe it away with his sleeve and it takes the numbers with it. He feels the cold liquid in his hands and hears it as it drips onto the floor. He's sure it's fine.

Hamid's breathing is a little too fast, and his hands are suddenly a little too sharp. The skin is too rough and an unfamiliar color. The fingers end in pointed edges made not to write and not to hold but to tear and slash and rip away. But the smudge persists even through the change of texture and he feels blood and magic run through his veins.

Hamid looks at a pair of hands that are no longer hands in front of him. He moves them. They shimmer brass under the lamplight. He wonders briefly if they're even his anymore, but the dirt hasn't gone away, has it? Neither has the slow but persistent sound of something dripping and hitting the carpet, or the quiet ghosts of beautiful music floating around him and making his chest ache. Neither has the feeling of pressure or the darkness eating away at the corners of his vision.

He looks at his too-sharp nails and knows not to try and scrub any of it away.

His breathing is really getting a little troublesome now, he thinks. He breathes in, it hitches. He breathes out.  
Hamid looks down at his hands and they're soft again. The skin between his knuckles is reddened, and there's no sign of any dirt. As he moves his fingers under the lamplight, flexing them one by one, he slowly realizes it was just a trick of the light. His hands shake a little when he moves them, not entirely coordinated. Just a little too soft. Just a little too sharp. To the naked eye, completely pristine.

Hamid breathes in.

The carpet is dry, and the room is silent.

Hamid breathes out.

They're nice hands, he thinks. He's seen them do wonderful things.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while I was still in ep 100 and oh boy I had a big storm comin'  
> thanks to the RQG Redstring server for being absolute sweethearts and reminding me that I could post things in here!


End file.
